


i swear, i swear that i'm a good kid

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, adam feels the feels and loses the plot briefly, i gave up writing this so the ending is super weird, minor character injuries, post trk, so with that comes, the gangsey is worried, today on google doc titles: adam loses a fight with a car, which is why this ends where it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: It starts with the Hondayota; rather, the Hondayota refuses to start. In the after, Adam thinks, briefly, that this shit must have been written somewhere in the stars. That’s the only explanation for how everything in his day lined up to create this massive mess.(title is from Good Kid [Lightning Thief Musical])





	i swear, i swear that i'm a good kid

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm let me know what you think! there shouldn't be any cw other than some brief descriptions of the injuries (none of which are gory/in detail because my dude is concussed as hell)

Adam thinks, before his brain wanders away from him completely, that this shit must have been written somewhere in the stars, because that’s the only explanation for how everything in his day lined up to create this massive mess. 

It starts with the Hondayota; rather, the Hondayota refuses to start. A quick glance tells Adam it’s not a cheap or an easy fix, not something he can do before school. And so it’s back to the bike, and it’s so hot in the blistering Virginia almost-summer that Adam is exhausted and sweaty and annoyed by the time he’s even at Aglionby. He knows that Boyd’s is going to sweltering through his shift, that the sun setting will do little to ease the sticky, stifling heat settling into Henrietta, and he lets the annoyance and anger burrow into his bones. 

His teachers are being asshats, the end of year, _graduation_ , doing nothing for them to ease up on the senior class. Adam is set; he’s got his full ride to MIT and the title of valedictorian, but it’s like that’s only fuelled them on in the pressure, the workload they’ve set on Adam. He needs to write a speech that’s approved by the board, a board that his linear algebra teacher regretfully informs him is inclined to reject everything he puts in front of them so they can give the speech to a richer, more reputable boy.

Ronan has been at the Barns for a few days. Adam misses him. 

By the time he’s only got forty minutes left at Boyd’s, his coveralls are clinging to him, sweat dripping down his back and slicking his hair to his forehead. That’s when a car comes in, an angry Aglionby parent in tow, and they offer Boyd double the money if the car can be fixed in two hours.

Adam has to stay late. 

He asks Boyd to use the office phone, but Boyd just tells him to get it done, that Adam’s texted Gansey enough times from Boyd’s personal phone that he knows the number, will pass on the message that Adam’s going to be late. 

He is dripping in sweat, barely able to grip the wrench tight enough by the time he’s done with the fucking Aglionby mother from hell’s BMW. Boyd pockets the extra, and Adam has to keep from seething as he ties the coveralls around his waist and unlocks his bike. It’s pitch black, and though the bike ride is only a few miles, fifteen minutes at most, Adam is exhausted. He wants a cold shower. He wants to _eat_. He wants to finish his last problem sets of the year and pass out. He wants to sleep and not have to wake up until he’s not tired, anymore. 

He wants to kiss Ronan. 

He starts biking slow, back and thighs and calves and arms and shoulders sore from the day of biking, the day of work, trying not to go off the road in the pitch blackness. 

Adam doesn’t register he’s biking with his deaf ear on the side towards the road until it’s too late.

He’s biking, and then there’s a bright light. The next second he’s airborne. It’s comical, Adam thinks, that he’s only two blocks from Monmouth as he realizes why he’s gone weightless. The light dims as a car continues speeding into the night as Adam feels his body hit the dirt.

He feels nothing for a while. 

If Adam didn’t intimately understand the feeling of swimming in and out of consciousness, he wouldn’t have known he went unconscious at all. When his eyes blink open, he’s staring at the stars. He feels stickier than before, head spinning and mapping new constellations, and there isn’t a part of him that doesn’t feel the impact of the car, the bite of gravel. Adam hesitantly picks up one arm, hears a drop splat itself onto the pavement. 

Okay, so something is clearly bleeding. 

It takes a few breaths before Adam can push himself to his hands and knees without falling over again. He can’t find the bike, but he doesn’t think it’s worth it. He can make Ronan go get it. He just needs to get himself to Ronan. 

The only thought that Adam can hold on to, the one consuming thing pounding in a brain that keeps starting and swimming and shutting on and off and on and off is that he needs to go to Monmouth. Adam pushes past the dizziness, vomits water and half-digested crackers onto the side of the road, and forces his rapidly-becoming useless body to stand up, dammit. 

His face hits the gravel. 

Adam groans, as more and more small pieces of earth stick themselves to him, but he tries again. 

Adam falls again.

On the seventh try, Adam staggers, but he manages to keep his feet beneath him and his head above him. Wait, that’s not right. Fuck. Adam stops himself from thinking, just breathes and tries to count steps as he staggers closer and closer to Monmouth. 

When he finally gets there, he stares up at the stairs and almost cries. He knows, he goddamn _knows_ he’s going to fall if he tries to climb them. 

Then again, maybe someone will hear it and that’s all that matters. 

Adam, in a feat that surprises himself, makes it to a few steps after the first landing before he trips. The metal reverberates as Adam falls, and Adam just stays down. 

He thinks he hears footsteps. Whatever the sound is, it hurts his head. 

“Parrish, what the absolute _fuck_ —” Ronan says, and Adam winces at the volume of his voice, curls up at the sound of Ronan’s feet pounding down the stairs. “Oh my… holy… _Gansey_.” He yells the last bit, sinking down next to Adam on the landing, hands hovering like he’s afraid to hurt Adam. There’s more pounding.

“Can you… my bike,” Adam gasps out, suddenly aware of the stinging pain in his arm as Ronan pulls it away from Adam’s face, as he tries to inventory the damage.

“Adam,” Ronan says, his voice serious in the way Adam’s only heard it before Ronan would drop him off at the trailer park. “You gotta tell me what happened.” 

“Biking here. There was a car,” Adam slurs, and that’s when the pounding stops. 

“Oh god, we need to get him to a hospital—” Gansey starts, and Adam bolts upright. 

“M’ fine, Gansey. M’ fine,” he tries, even as he sinks back to laying against the floor, head unable to parse the sudden change in elevation, however slight. It’s quiet, or if Ronan and Gansey are talking, Adam doesn’t register it. The next thing he feels beyond the sticking, stinging sensation in his arm and his calf, the uncomfortable feeling of gravel digging into his back, is Ronan hauling Adam up, slinging one of Adam’s limp arms over his own shoulder, snaking an arm around Adam’s waist, before Adam can fall back to the ground. 

“You gonna help me by moving your legs?” Ronan grunts, but when Adam just stumbles forward, doubling over at the waist, Ronan shifts his arms and then Adam’s over one of Ronan’s shoulders. 

If only could Adam could get his mouth to connect to his brain to warn Ronan. Instead, he just ends up vomiting all over the back of Ronan’s black tank top. Ronan doesn’t yell, doesn’t get angry, doesn’t say anything at all. Adam is so overwhelmed by the sensation of throwing up, that his vision doesn’t clear until he realizes he’s staring at the ceiling of Monmouth, Gansey’s concerned face coming into view.

“He said he was hit by a car on his bike,” Ronan says, swiping a hand along the back of his shaved head. “It can’t be far from here.”

“I’ll go look,” another voice offers, and Adam really doesn’t know who else is in the room. He thinks he remembers something about a movie night, but that could have been weeks ago. Time isn’t working correctly right now at all. 

“Adam. Adam,” that’s Gansey, face scrunched with worry. “We need to ask you a few questions, okay?”

“Mmkay,” Adam slurs. “Ronan,” he adds, hoping it wasn’t Ronan who left. In the time it takes for Adam to blink, Ronan’s hovering face joins Gansey’s. Suddenly, Ronan is grabbing Adam’s arm, and something is pressing hard all around his forearm, trapping the stickiness under something that feels like a worse version of Adam’s skin. He goes to pick at it with his other hand, but something stops him. 

“He’s right here. Okay, Adam, are you ready?” Gansey’s voice is really pretty, soft and warm and whole, Adam thinks. “Thanks for that, um, compliment.” Oh, maybe he didn’t just think that. “What’s the day of the week, Adam?”

“Dunno. It’s probably Wednesday or Thursday,” Adam says, watches at the creases get deeper. He thinks he’s not doing so well at this quiz. (He’s not. It’s Friday.)

“What’s your full name?” Gansey asks, and Adam really wants to glare, but he’s distracted by Ronan doing something to one of his calves. 

“Adam Parrish,” Adam slurs, frowning as he tries to push himself up to his elbows to see what Ronan’s doing. He’s moving too fast, something white flashing and sticking itself to his leg. Adam remembers how fucking hot it is outside. 

“Okay, good. What’s the last thing you remember?” Gansey’s voice is soft, so calm, that Adam feels the exhaustion overwhelm everything else. His eyes close, but then there are hands tapping at his face. Adam tries to swat them away, but they don’t stop until Adam’s eyes open. “We need you to stay awake, Adam.”

“M’ tired. Want a shower,” Adam gets out, fingers playing with the hem of his grease-stained shirt. 

“You can’t even stand,” Ronan points out. Okay, looks like Adam has to prove a point. He forces his feet on the ground, but as he stands the world goes completely white, silent. It’s only just starting to fade when he hears a—

“Jesus, that was not a challenge.” Ronan’s voice isn’t angry. It’s worried. There are hands on him, pressing him back into the cushions. Adam thinks he might be upright, but it’s hard to tell. 

“He’s concussed,” a new voice says, harsh and strong. He thinks it has to be Blue. “We need to take him to a doctor. Those cuts are deep. He needs stitches.” 

“M’ fine,” Adam mumbles out, feels himself start to fall sideways until another body stops him. Gansey asks him to follow a light, but Adam just squeezes his eyes shut.

“Adam, it isn’t a discussion,” the same voice says. “It’ll be quick. I promise.” A hand squeezes his own. 

Adam loses track of things after that. He thinks he’s moving, but he knows he’s not the one doing the work. There’s fingers tapping at his face, keeping him awake, but it’s like his body is floating away. He’s laying in the pond by the Barns, ears and arms and legs underwater, mouth open to the air. He feels nothing, he is nothing. He is the water. 

Adam lets himself wash away.

:: ::

“Okay, we need to get him moving,” Henry Cheng says unhelpfully, once Adam slips into a weird half-conscious state. “His bike is downstairs. It’s a fucking mess, though.”

“I need to change my shirt,” Ronan says, running into his room and back out quickly, back no longer soaked in Adam’s bile. “Cheng, help me get him down the stairs.” He goes to Adam’s right side, Cheng takes his left, and they manage to get him into the Pig. Adam is all but completely limp, and Ronan keeps him pressed into his side, looking at the bruises swelling on his face, the blood dripping from the cut splitting his eyebrow, making sure the bandages wrapped around Adam’s forearm are tight enough to staunch the blood flow. He has no idea what’s happening beyond the livid scrapes embedded with gravel and the disorientation, doesn’t want to know if something worse is lurking beneath Adam’s shirt. 

He tries to keep Adam awake. 

“Cheng, what the fuck happened?” Blue asks. 

“I think it’s what he said. His bike is totalled, and I think a car hit the back of the bike and sent Adam flying. There was gravel and some sharper rocks around where I found the bike, so it’s not surprising he’s all cut up,” Henry says. “He should be okay. I don’t think the concussion is too severe.” 

“He’s not even in the room, Cheng,” Ronan spits, arm wrapping tighter around his boyfriend. “He was more fucking lucid when he went deaf in an ear.” 

“Let’s not rehash that night,” Gansey says, but he keeps glancing into the rearview mirror, eyes trained on Adam. 

“Your thumb ain’t broken this time,” Blue inputs, and now Henry looks more confused than ever. But that’s when Adam’s eyes flutter open, the first time they’ve been more than slits since he was on the couch at Monmouth.

“Wha… where we going?” Adam slurs, head lolling down to his chest, lips barely moving. “Ouch.”

“What hurts?” Ronan asks immediately, one hand lifting Adam’s chin, trying to force Adam’s unfocused eyes to meet his own. 

“Dunno,” Adam responds, and Ronan is amazed at how unhelpful a concussed Adam is. “Just hurts.”

“We’re getting close,” Gansey says, as they make the final turn on the street that houses Mountain View General Hospital. “What’s the plan?”

“Ronan gets him inside, I sprint in to tell them what’s going on,” Blue supplies, and there’s no sounds in the car apart from Adam’s labored breathing. 

“Inside where?” Adam asks, his head falling onto Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan puts a hand on the side of Adam’s face, gently supporting Adam’s neck, keeping it where it has decided to rest. “Where we go’n, Ro’n?” 

“You got hit by a car. Where do you think we’re going?” Ronan asks, voice quiet and free from it’s normal bite. 

“Dunno, that’s why I asked,” Adam retorts, and Ronan fails to smother exactly one laugh before the lights of the hospital are suddenly bright and present. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Now would not be a good time for you to lose your shit,” Ronan says. “Very less than ideal.” 

But it looks like the sensations are overwhelming Adam. He just blinks, face blank, unresponsive as Ronan picks him up, gets him out of the car. Adam tries to stumble along, but his balance is almost nonexistent, needing Ronan’s tight grip around his waist to guide the stumbling. 

A wheelchair is waiting, a few nurses moving to help as soon as they see Adam. One stays behind, asks Gansey a few quick questions, but then they’re all gone. A nurse hands Gansey a clipboard and a form. Gansey gives it to Ronan. They all sit down. 

They all wait.

:: ::

One hour and forty minutes, three forms, and three rounds of Ronan pacing the waiting room later, a nurse comes back out. She calls Ronan and Gansey back, his emergency contacts, promises it’s just to explain what happened and what to do in coming hours and days. Henry holds Blue black from following by force, convinces her instead to go with him to bring Gansey’s car to the entrance, a small miracle in and of itself. Then again, Gansey looks like he’s about to throw up with anxiety, so maybe it’s not actually a miracle after all.

When they go to the right triage room, Ronan immediately bolts to Adam’s side. He’s laying on the cot, eyes half-lidded as a nurse finishes up cleaning the last of the damage on his chest, antiseptic wipe rubbing past skin torn and red and angry from where Adam’s body met the earth. His forearm is covered in a bandage, same with the calf. Ronan can’t tell if there are stitches below them, but he knows there are stitches through his eyebrow and his lip, and the nasty scrape across Adam’s chin and left side of his jaw is cleaned as well. 

“Ro,” Adam greets, voice low and rumbly and definitely slurred. Ronan just grabs Adam’s hand, turns back to Gansey and the nurse and doctor. The nurse hands Gansey a bag.

“He’s okay,” is what the doctor says off-the-bat. Ronan thinks she looks exhausted, dark hair frizzed and escaping the hold an elastic has on it, and she looks young. “He does have a minor concussion. We thought it might be worse, because of the problems with balance and lucidness, but most of that is actually due to the deafness of his left ear than the actual severity of the concussion itself.”

Gansey lets out a breath of air he had no idea he was holding. Ronan does the same. 

“We did give the gash on his forearm a total of seventeen stitches, nineteen for the one on his calf. We have instructions for care in the bag, but essentially leave the bandage and keep it clean and dry the first forty-eight hours, and after that wash it twice a day. Same for the split in his eyebrow and lip. Those we’ll take out in five days, maybe the arm also. Leg might be up to two weeks. The rest is just scrapes and bruises—we’ve given you a prescription for a moderately strong pain medication. He should use it.” The last bit is said with a pointed look at Adam.

“S’ fine,” Adam mumbles, and Ronan just flicks him on the nose, one of the few places Ronan feels like he won’t break. 

“He’s hardcore,” the nurse summarizes, when Gansey gives a confused look to both of them. “He was barely responding to questions but managed to refuse pain medication. At least until we had to stitch his arm, but even then it was just a little numbing agent.” 

“Parrish, you’re an idiot,” Ronan says, marvels at Adam. “Why?”

“S’not bad. Not as bad as stitching yourself up,” he says. There’s a moment, where Adam is honestly still too out of it to comprehend the information he’s just given up, but Ronan thinks it makes sense. There are marks that have scarred in an odd way, rough and uneven, and Ronan thinks he understands them just a little bit more, now. 

“Okay. You ready to go, Parrish?” Ronan asks as Gansey quietly asks the nurse and doctor questions and signs a few more things. 

“Mhm. ‘M tired,” Adam says, goes to sit up and braces himself with an arm on Ronan’s shoulder when the world continues to spin. Between Ronan and the nurse, they get him back into the wheelchair, even though Adam grumbles that he can walk (he can’t—he’d almost toppled over just getting into the wheelchair), and then he’s back in the car again. 

“What’s the verdict?” Blue asks. “Concussion can’t be too bad if they let you go.”

“Nah, but we still have to keep an eye on him. His balance is going to be shit until this starts to clear up,” Ronan says. “It’s all controlled from the ears or some shit.” 

“It’s fine,” Adam groans. “Just… shush.” He reaches a clumsy hand, missing whatever it was he wanted to do but ends up patting Ronan’s face gently. Ronan just kisses the knuckles, snakes an arm around Adam and pulls him close. 

“You two are gross. Never stop,” Henry says, seemingly awestruck. Adam has somehow twisted himself so that his face is in Ronan’s neck. “All right there, Parrish?”

“S’ spinny,” Adam gets out. 

He dozes off after that.

:: ::

Adam wakes and immediately retches. In an instant, someone hauls him upright and shoves a trash bin into his hands, and then Adam’s violently vomiting water and stomach acid into the bin. There’s a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles, and then when it’s over someone’s helping him lay back down.

They must think he’s going back to sleep.

It’s spinning, and Adam just lets out a groan. He tries to roll onto his side, but then it feels like there’s hot wires sticking into his side and Adam collapses onto his back. 

“Come on, you’re not choking on your own vomit.” That’s definitely Ronan, hands gentle, but Adam manages to haul himself upright, but he has to put his elbows on his thighs and hang his head in the gap to keep from vomiting again. It’s all so… far away. It’s weird and Adam can’t parse much but he doesn’t like it. 

“Wha’s going on?” Adam groans, wincing at the way his own voice feels in his own skull. 

“It’s almost two in the afternoon. You’ve been asleep an impressive sixteen hours,” Ronan explains, his arm wrapping around Ronan. “You’re concussed.” 

“No shit,” Adam says. He tries to pick his head up, but it makes everything spin, and he feels himself fall into Ronan. 

“Come on, let’s get you set up on the couch. Gansey will make you a smoothie or some dumb shit,” Ronan says, hauls Adam to feet and takes his weight when Adam starts to stumble. It’s a journey, and Adam looks like he wants to fall asleep again as soon as he’s on the couch, Ronan right next to him. 

“My arm itches,” Adam mumbles, goes to touch it until Ronan grabs his wrists. 

“You’ve got an impressive amount of stitches. Don’t tear them,” is what Ronan responds, and Adam manages a glare that’s only about a third of its normal potency. 

“Oh right. The car,” Adam says. “Oh, fuck, I have to call in to work.” 

“Already done. Boyd is on the lookout for someone bringing in a car with a banged up front,” Ronan says. “Said he’ll call the cops and us if one comes in.” 

“S’ not a big deal,” Adam says. “Just some asshole.” 

“It is. You got hurt.” Ronan’s voice is shaky, and it sounds so scared that it reminds Adam of the way it felt to be blind and unaware of Ronan being unmade right in front of his eyes. It makes Adam reach out, wrap his arms around Ronan and press Ronan’s head to his own shoulder. At least, what’s what he tries to do; in reality, he ends up smashed into Ronan’s neck. 

“Holy fuck, you’re uncoordinated,” Ronan mutters, but holds Adam tightly until there’s the dip of the couch on the other side of Adam. He listens to Adam’s slow breathing, hands careful of the scraped and bruised and cut-up skin lurking behind one of Ronan’s old t-shirts. 

“Hey, where’s m’ clothes?” Adam mumbles, hands fumbling with the hem of Ronan’s shirt. 

“They were dirty. They’re in the wash now.” That’s Gansey, who squeezes Adam’s knee and puts a glass in Adam’s hands. It’s heavy. It makes Adam’s stomach twinge, just a little. 

“Dunno,” is what Adam ends up saying, forcing himself to take a sip. It feels nice, cold, bland going down his throat. “Oh.” 

“You’re eloquent today,” Ronan comments. “Drink at least half of it.” 

“Y’re not my mom.” Adam’s voice is slurring, but he takes another sip. Ronan’s hand is on the back of his neck, playing idly with the short hair there. It’s relaxing enough that Adam can keep drinking. He makes it exactly halfway through the glass, then puts it down on the table in front of him. Ronan’s hand moves to Adam’s forehead, brushes the stray hair off of it and leans Adam into his shoulder. 

“He should take his meds,” Blue says, plops onto the arm of the couch with the bag in her hand. “How are you feeling Adam?”

“It’s pretty far away,” is what Adam decides to say. “Like it’s spinning, but not close.” 

“That’s less helpful than you seem to think it is,” Blue says dryly. “How much does it hurt?” 

It takes Adam a second to think, like he’s somewhere inside of himself rewiring his brain back to the rest of his body. When he does, the sensation of feeling overwhelms him for a second, and he can see stars. It’s fire crawling up the side of his body pressed into Ronan, agony pulsing through his cheek and jaw and ribs and arm and leg and what the fuck happened? It’s like someone lit a match at the tip of Adam and this is where he decided to burn. It’s like how it would feel, waking up on the floor of the trailer unsure of what happened the night before, early mornings spent crawling to the bathroom and trying to stitch himself back together. He knows the stitches in him are tight and neat and professionally done, can feel it in the way they don’t quite pull but don’t feel loose. 

“Hey, _breathe_ ,” Ronan urges, and Adam takes a gulp of air. “What’s going on?”

“Hurts,” Adam forces out. 

“Here.” There are pills pressed into his palm, another glass pressed into his hand. Adam swallows them harshly, tries to wriggle away from Ronan. Ronan holds on tighter. 

There are lips against his jawline, briefly, a reminder that Ronan is there. Adam thinks about the last night, tries to ignore the throbbing as he forces his brain to do its goddamn job. He thinks about falling down the stairs, hoping that _anybody_ heard, thinks about Ronan’s hands afraid to hurt him. It’s the first time Ronan’s been afraid since their first kiss after Gansey entered his third attempt at life. Adam thinks that Ronan’s hands feel like the way sunset looks in Henrietta, Ronan’s breath on his cheek the breeze that breaks through the impossible heat in the summer. It’s so different from the way heat trapped itself inside the trailer, the way the fluorescents burned Adam’s tired eyes.

Adam is still so, so tired. Eventually, the fire burns itself to ash, and Adam relaxes enough for Ronan to loosen his grip, but Adam doesn’t want to be let go. 

He was hit by a fucking car. 

It’s always Adam to take the fall. It’s always Adam to take the hit. First it was his father, and then it was Whelk, and then it was a goddamn demon. Everything he ever does is wrong; the sacrifice to Cabeswater resulted in bloody fingers twisted and dislocated after someone fucking _finally_ pulled him off of Ronan. He’s always the one to blame, always the one that has to leave. He’s tried his entire fucking life to be _good_. If Adam were a good son, a good student, a good friend, a good person, then none of this would have happened. He thinks the one thing Robert did properly was Adam’s name: the first mistake ever made, the first son to be exiled from paradise. 

And then there’s Ronan. He can’t tell if Ronan’s the snake or the apple or Eden, but if he thinks any more he thinks he’s going to pass out. 

He starts to cry, instead.

“Hey. I’m here,” Ronan whispers in Adam’s hair. Adam thinks that Ronan is Eden, or an Eden exiled from itself. No, that doesn’t make sense. That makes Adam want to cry harder, and then Ronan’s grip is tight, holding Adam close and whispering things that Adam’s brain can’t parse right now. 

He throws out garbled sentences, none of which makes sense to him, just tangles of words that feel as sharp as thorns leaving his throat. It’s not making sense. Adam’s never meant to hurt anyone. Why is it always him that’s hurt? 

Ronan’s around him are warm. 

Adam thinks Ronan is his last chance. It’s his last chance to prove he’s good enough for something, that he himself is _good_. It’s his last chance to find his own Eden. 

Adam exhales. His head is against Ronan’s chest, can hear Ronan’s heartbeat with his one good ear. He can’t hear anything else. Adam’s hands are his own when he intertwines his left with Ronan’s, and he lets Ronan’s arm around his waist and the calm of Ronan’s heart, of his breathing, overwhelm every other sense Adam has so he can just stop fucking thinking. 

He falls asleep, thinking of apples and Cabeswater and the feeling of branches and arms encompassing him until there’s no sensation of anything at all, anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> this is dumb. lmk what you think? also, i have so many unfinished things in my docs. should i finish:  
> -adam vs dolores umbridge  
> -adam gets appendicitis in college  
> -self indulgent lynch family au  
> -adam has a sister au  
> -something completely different
> 
> Would anyone read any of these lol?


End file.
